


Bubble Wrapped Boy

by writerstrash



Series: Raising Peter: Superfamily Oneshots [11]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fatherhood, M/M, Parenthood, Superfamily, Superhusbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-06-30 12:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerstrash/pseuds/writerstrash
Summary: Snippets of Peter being a typical kid and getting injured throughout the years.





	Bubble Wrapped Boy

**Stitches**

"Daddy?" Peter's voice called from the kitchen. 

There was a slight urgency in the six year old's voice. Tony was sitting in the living room, his hand beginning to cramp from the amount of paperwork he was signing. Steve was downstairs in the gym on hour three of his workout. Which left Peter roaming the floor, entertaining himself with his legos and action figures. 

"What's up kiddo?" Tony called back.

"I hurt my hand," he whined. 

Tony paused, looking over the back of the couch.

"Hurt your hand how?"

"Uh..." the little boy trailed off. "I was...I just tryin' to cut my apple,"

Tony was jumping up immediately, rushing to the kitchen and feeling his heart squeeze in his chest at the sight of his son's hand covered in blood. Peter's face was pale and his eyes were wide, the situation obviously still dawning on him.

"Shit!" Tony gasped, hurrying over to grab Peter's hand and wrap it in hand towel. 

"It stinging!" Peter cried, now scared. "I'm sorry! I din' mean to!"

"Peter, you can't use the knives, you know that!" Tony stressed. "Let me have a look at it, okay? It's okay Pete, I won't touch it. Friday, tell Steve to get up here now, emergency."

Peter's lip trembled as he held out his hand for his father. Tony peeled off the material slowly, trying to clear the blood to have a look at the wound. It was a deep cut. The blood just kept coming, and Tony's heart kept racing. He had sliced the skin between his thumb and index finger. Tony wasn't a medical professional, but he was certain that needed stitches.

"Is it bad?" Peter asked, hiccuping.

"No, it's not bad," Tony told him, hoping his voice was calmer than he felt. "We're gonna need to go to the hospital though-"

"Nooooo," Peter cried. "Daddy no! They scary!"

"Shh, shh it's okay," Tony soothed, running his hand over Peter's cheek. "Daddy and papa will be with you, okay?"

Just as Tony wrapped Peter's hand up in the hand towel once again, the elevator dinged and Steve rushed out. He was breathing heavily, running into the kitchen to his family. His expression mirrored Tony's just moments before, eyes wide and panic spreading across his face.

"Oh, oh Pete! What happened!"

"I didn't mean to! I'm sorry! I know I not s'posed to!" the boy cried.

Steve pulled his son into his arms, careful of Tony keeping pressure on his hand. He pressed kisses along the side of Peter's face, checking him over for any other injuries. Tony explained to him what happened as Peter hid his face in Steve's chest, rubbing his son's back gently to calm him down. There was no use getting mad at Peter for getting into the knives, not when he was this upset and in pain. The last thing they wanted was to make him feel any worse.

At the hospital, Peter was almost inconsolable. 

"Hey, hey it's okay," Steve soothed, sitting up on the exam table with Peter in his lap.

"Daddy?" Peter looked around.

"Here, I'm here baby," Tony cooed, brushing the boy's hair from his face. "Just leaving some room for the nice doctor, okay?"

The doctor, Abby, was the perfect choice for Peter. She knew just how to talk to him and how to calm him down. She even got a few giggles out of him, which surprised both Tony and Steve. Peter was normally extremely shy around new people, especially when he was sick or hurt. He wanted no one other than his parents. 

"Did you keep track of the stitches, Peter?" she asked.

"Uh huh," he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I counted four,"

"Four? But didn't I just do three?" 

"Nuh uh," Peter shook his head. "One, two, three, four!"

"Huh, you got me there!" she gasped. "You didn't tell me you were so smart!"

Peter grinned shyly. 

"My daddy says I'm as smart as he is," Peter admit.

"Well I'd believe that," Abby laughed. "And you're so brave Peter. You've been the best patient I've had all day,"

Peter nestled back into Steve's chest, letting out a long sigh. He was exhausted now. The adrenaline was gone and he was crashing, especially with the light dose of pain relief they had given him. Tony was still holding onto his other hand as they bandaged him up. 

"Okay, so he's going to be a little uncomfortable with the swelling over the next few hours. It's gonna feel like it's throbbing, it's probably going to sting and you need to remind him not to tense up his hand and stretch the skin. Bathe it in lukewarm water, I'd recommend adding some salt if he's comfortable with that, keep it clean and dry for a few days and come back to me in a week to take them out," Abby explained.

"Thank you so much," Steve sighed. "You've been amazing."

Tony was already planning a generous contribution to the hospital and feedback for Abby. 

When they made it back home, Peter was sound asleep. He was stuck to Steve's chest and refused to be put down, even when they walked into his bedroom. Steve didn't mind at all. After their scare today, he wanted nothing more than to keep Peter in his arms for as long as possible. 

"I'm putting all knives in a safe," Tony sighed, sitting next to them on the couch.

"He's trying to be a big boy," Steve explained. "I'm surprised he hasn't hurt himself doing something like that before now,"

"He's going to turn me grey before Christmas," Tony shook his head. "I don't ever want to see him bleeding again,"

* * *

**Black Eye**

"Pete, don't run in here!" Steve scolded, standing in the middle of the compound training room.

"I'm not running!" the eight year old argued, slowing to a power walk. 

Steve rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to Natasha.

They were sparring while the rest of the team continued their own training. Tony was modifying some suits, adjusting weapons and doing his usual tech-heavy updates. Peter was currently running around chasing the rocket shooters Tony made for him. They were safe for indoors, they moved slowly and involved no fire, but Peter made almost everything dangerous. He was accident prone. Always had been. 

Natasha landed a hit on Steve's jaw, pausing to let him steady himself.

"Your focus is all out," she quipped.

"Peter! There's equipment everywhere, slow down!" Steve called out to his son.

"I'm not _running-"_

"You _are_ running. Listen to your pops," Tony cut in, voice stern.

"But everyone else is doing stuff," the boy whined.

"Everyone else is training, Peter. Safely."

"I'm being safe," he grumbled.

"Pete, no running. That's it. Okay?" Tony sighed, eyeing his son. "Okay?"

"Fine," he mumbled, kicking his feet against the ground.

Tony rolled his eyes, looking back to Steve with a huff. Sometimes Peter liked to push his parent's patience, and he was good at it too.

But his parents didn't warn him off running for no reason, and Peter discovered that only moments later. He threw the rockets over toward the obstacle course, beginning to chase them slowly before looking to his fathers. Neither were looking at him, so he began to pick up his pace. Soon he was running at full-speed, eyes trained on the rockets, right into a metal bar. 

The bang echoed throughout the room, stealing everyone's attention. They all looked over to see Peter on his butt, a shocked look on his face, his hand coming up to rub at his right eye.

"Peter!" Steve panicked, running over.

Tony was right behind him.

"Owwww," he whined. 

"Show me," Steve instructed, leaning down in front of him. "Move your hand, Pete."

Peter's brow bone was red and swelling, blood rushing to the surface.

"You hit hard, didn't you?" he sighed.

"I feel dizzy," 

"Probably got a concussion," Tony added, kneeling by Peter's side. "Are you feeling sick?"

"I don't...I don't know, I just...owww," 

"You put a dent in the pole," Rhodey shook his head, standing by them all. "How fast were you going, kid?"

Peter frowned, looking down at his feet. 

"I didn't mean to," he whined softly.

"We know you didn't, that's why we told you _not_ to run in here," Steve shook his head. "This is exactly what we don't want to happen, buddy."

Peter's lip trembled.

"I'm sorry,"

"It's okay, Pete. If anything, this is gonna really teach you not to do that again, isn't it?" Tony sighed, rubbing his son's back. "And to listen to your folks, huh?"

Peter nodded sadly, leaning into his father's arms. He was embarrassed and ashamed of himself, but the injury itself was definitely going to be a bigger lesson than his feelings. 

And for the next two weeks, Peter had a nasty, deep-purple and black eye. For the first two days it was swollen so bad he could only see out of one eye and it made sleeping uncomfortable and difficult. Every time Peter poked it, he was reminded of his actions. 

"Is it gonna go away soon?" Peter asked after the first week.

"Still a few more days, Pete," Steve shook his head, inspecting the eye.

"Your bruises don't take this long," the boy huffed.

"Papa's different," Tony chuckled. "You and me? We take a little longer to get rid of our owies."

Peter groaned.

"Not _owies_ , dad. I'm not a baby," 

"I'm not allowed to call them owies? I remember a little boy who liked to repeat the word _owie_ over and over and over-"

"When I was a baby!" Peter defended. "I'm big now,"

"Oh, you're right," Tony rolled his eyes. "However could I forget,"

* * *

**Broken Leg**

Tony was flying over the Hudson, en route to the tower after a successful mission, when Steve's voice patched through the HUD. He was meant to be at SHIELD today, training new recruits, and Tony was slightly thrown off by his call.

_"Tony?"_

"Yeah, you've got me Steve. What's wrong?" 

_"Don't freak out, okay? Because Peter's okay, but we're are the hospital-"_

"Steve," Tony breathed, panicked. "That doesn't sound okay to me!"

 _"He was in an accident at school,"_ Steve explained quickly. _"He fell off the roof of one of the classrooms-"_

"Why the hell was Peter on a roof!" he barked, already flying off to the hospital to meet them. 

_"He was trying to get a ball down,"_ Steve sighed. _"He broke his leg, Tony."_

Tony's heart was in his throat. Peter was okay, he was okay, but he was at hospital. Fell of a roof. Broken leg. He was okay. Alive. Breathing. Broken leg.

_"Please don't freak out, okay? Pete's shaken up enough as it is-"_

"Don't freak out?! My son just broke his leg falling off-"

_"Tony, he's beating himself up enough, don't get mad at him,"_

"I'm not...I'm not mad," Tony sighed, trying to calm himself down. "Jesus, Steve. He fell off a roof. He could have broken more than his leg."

_"I know that, and I don't want to focus on what could have happened, okay? He broke his leg, that's what we're dealing with. They're about to plaster it up now. Peter's pretty worked up and he's feeling really crappy, but he wants you here."_

"I'm already on my way. I can see the hospital now," Tony explained. "Why didn't you call sooner?"

 _"It took a while to calm him down, you know how he is with hospitals,_ " Steve told him.

"I'll be there in less than a minute," 

Tony rushed inside the hospital the moment the suit opened. He headed for emergency, shouting Peter's name at a receptionist and following her directions. In a small examination room, Peter was positioned on a bed with his leg braced and Steve holding his hand. He looked like he had been crying and Tony felt his heart breaking. 

"Hey buddy," Tony sighed, hurrying to his son's side and kissing the side of his head. 

"Dad," Peter whined, clinging to his shirt. "It hurts,"

"I know it does," Tony soothed, running his hand over Peter's cheek softly. "It's gonna get better."

"They're giving him some pain relief before they start the plaster," Steve explained, rubbing Peter's other leg softly. "It's a bit of a nasty break,"

"I'd imagine it would be," Tony sighed.

Peter cried, leaning into Tony's chest as the man stood by his side. 

"I didn't mean t-to fall," he sobbed.

"Hey, we know that kiddo," Steve shushed. "We're not mad at you, Pete,"

"You're d-disappointed in me, I can t-tell!"

"Well then your senses are all off Pete," Tony argued. "We're just worried. We don't like you getting hurt,"

"I just wanted to get the ball down so we could keep playing," Peter explained. "I slipped on the way down,"

"Next time, just go get a new ball, _please_ ," Steve insisted. 

Peter had a horrible night with the cast on his leg. Not only could he not get comfortable in bed, but he was in so much pain that he couldn't stop crying at the slightest movements. Steve and Tony worried over him all night, missing out on any sleep as well. The doctor prescribed pain relief to be taken every four hours and although it was helping, Peter was in pain for the last hour each time. 

They had him on the couch with a few pillows propping his leg up, old cartoons playing on television as Peter dozed in and out of sleep. Their heart broke for their son, but they were doing all they could. Tony had Friday monitoring Peter's vitals, sleep pattern, pain tolerance, medication intake, everything. 

Tony and Steve were sleeping on the floor in the living room right by the couch, eyes snapping awake at every little whimper and movement Peter made.

That was the toughest night. But they got easier.

"This is the worst," Peter complained, frowning as he was lifted into the bathtub.

"You're welcome," Steve huffed, lowering Peter into the warm water, leaving his leg out on the corner of the tub.

"I feel like a baby," the boy whined. "I can't believe you have to wash me,"

"I'm not washing you, I'm putting you in the bath and helping you clean yourself," Steve explained. "I'm just here for backup, you're doing all the washing."

"It's still embarrassing," the twelve year old groaned. 

"Embarrassing? I used to change your diapers, Peter. Would you rather me leave you here to flounder about on your own?" 

Peter shook his head, shoulders sagging.

"No,"

"Didn't think so," Steve smirked. "Wash. I'm going to get your clothes ready."

Peter felt like he lost all the independence he had grown so used to. Steve and Tony felt like they were back to raising a toddler. 

"Use your crutches!" Tony scolded, spotting his son scoot across the kitchen to the refrigerator in just his brace.

"I'm just getting a snack," Peter argued.

"I don't care, crutches!" his father continued, carrying over the steel frames.

Peter made a face, taking the crutches and placing them under his arms.

"I'm not an invalid,"

"Leg beg's to differ," Tony bit back playfully.

"I seriously can't wait for this thing to be off," the boy grunted, making his way over to the couch awkwardly with a handful of snacks.

"You and me both, kiddo."

Tony waited for Peter to be sitting comfortably before he left the room once again. 

Peter was going to cause him a heart-attack, he just knew it. Steve, a literal super-soldier, was even going grey at a rapid rate thanks to his son. The amount of cuts and bruises and broken bones and endless heart-stopping injuries Peter would get over the years almost drove both of his parents to an anxiety induced breakdown.

But when Tony and Steve looked at their son, bandaged or not, they knew it was all worth it. Tony would go grey in a heartbeat if it meant Peter could grow up safe and healthy. Steve would give his own limbs for him, too. There was not a single thing in this world that the fathers wouldn't do for their son. If that meant carrying Peter into a bath every day, they would do it. If they had to feed him like a toddler once again, they would. If Peter had to lay in their bed with them at night and be soothed back to sleep like a baby, they would do it in a flash. 

Tony often brought up the idea of bubble-wrapping their son to ensure his safety, but they were both sure that somehow Peter would still manage to hurt himself. He was accident prone and clumsy and awkward, but he was perfect in every way, despite all of that.

So they did everything they needed to do for Peter to get better each time he was hurt, because they knew one day it wouldn't be their job anymore. One day, Peter would take care of himself without needing their help. One day, Peter would have his own life and his own family and his own partner. One day it would be someone else's job. One day Peter wouldn't need them like that anymore. So the fathers doted on their son as much as the could, knowing that 'one day' would grow closer and closer with each _owie_ and hospital trip their son endured. 


End file.
